


made of nebulas and novas and night sky

by ThunderstormsandMemories



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Other, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 11:56:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15948869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderstormsandMemories/pseuds/ThunderstormsandMemories
Summary: in which there is some sibling reconciliation, a dinner party, a cheesy rom-com, and Sokrates realizes that they're maybe a little bit married to the divine sharing their body





	made of nebulas and novas and night sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [automatronic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/automatronic/gifts).



> my FatT NB Swap gift for twitter user Eli absolutelybees! sorry for getting this to you at the absolute last minute before the deadline, but I really hope you enjoy it!!!!
> 
> set vaguely sometime close to the beginning of the Counter/Weight finale

“You’re not really going out like that, are you?” said Euanthe, and it could have been twenty years ago, with Cass at the height of their goth phase trying to go to a royal function in fishnets and black lipstick, and Sokrates trying unsuccessfully to convince everyone that miniskirts counted as black tie on Counterweight (false) so they should also count as black tie on Apostolos (even falser).

It had originally been their parent’s line, of course, but Euanthe had been quick to imitate them, to try to act so much older and more mature, even when they were six years old and still pinned their chiton crooked unless they had help, but considered it their job to tell Sokrates to wash their face again, and by the time they were teenagers neither of their parents ever needed to scold them about appearances because Euanthe had already made sure they were presentable.

It was the silliest thing to feel nostalgic about, but somehow it was comforting to see them leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed, and a few scars aside, they could almost pretend nothing had changed, that the last fifteen years had never happened. Integrity, who would have been raising a skeptical eyebrow if they’d had a skeptical eyebrow to raise, reminded Sokrates that not two days before they had complained about how Euanthe _“wouldn’t stop telling me what to do as a kid and they’re still like that, like come on, what is their problem_.”

Sometimes, sharing their brain with an AI with photographic memory wasn’t as fun as it sounded.

_Thanks for that_ , Sokrates said. _Like my own brain doesn’t already remind me of all the dumb shit I’ve said._

_You’re welcome,_ said Integrity, deadpan. _I’m here for you._ Sokrates was getting better at identifying Integrity’s tone, or maybe Integrity had figured out how to make sure Sokrates knew how to interpret how they felt, because at the beginning they’d both definitely been a lot worse at it.

_Love you_ , said Sokrates.

_Love you too_ , said Integrity. _Also, your sibling is still here, and you should maybe answer them_.

Euanthe was still standing in the doorway, watching them carry on their silent conversation. Hopefully it had been a silent conversation. Sometimes they didn’t notice when they’d accidentally responded out loud. And sometimes they spoke out loud to Integrity on purpose, because Integrity liked the sound of their voice.

“Sorry,” Sokrates said, because it had maybe been a little rude to ignore Euanthe for so long, and they were working too hard at getting along to ruin it over something so small. “Might as well come in, I know you’re not gonna let me leave until I’m presentable. Wouldn’t want to offend anyone by being too in style.” They swished their robes for emphasis, really hoping that they weren’t going to have to change. In Sokrates’s opinion, it was important to dress like someone who was aware that there was a star sector outside of Apostolos with fashion trends that had changed any time in the last century. In Euanthe’s opinion, it was important to not offend any of the older, more conservative nobles who had very recently been made aware of that fact and weren’t happy about it. In Integrity’s opinion, people like that were going to mistrust Sokrates no matter what they wore, so they might as well look good. _You do look good tonight, by the way_ , said Integrity, as if they hadn’t made that clear with their hum of approval as Sokrates had picked their outfit.

“Your clothes are fine,” Euanthe said. “I’m impressed, actually. Everything even matches.”

“Is that the problem?” Sokrates said. “Should I clash more?”

Euanthe sighed, unimpressed. “Your hair is a mess. Do you want me to fix it?”

In Euanthe’s defense, their hair was, in fact, kind of a mess. In Sokrates’s defense it wasn’t entirely their fault. They’d chopped most of it off during the war, hurriedly and crookedly, and never quite figured out how to even out the ends, and still kept it just barely long enough to do anything with at all, let alone put it into a braid that could be pinned up high enough to leave the back of their neck- and Integrity- visible.

Part of that was practical, and Socrates had learned from experience. If Integrity’s armor had to come out unexpectedly and any of Sokrates’s hair got caught, it fucking hurt. But the other part was more symbolic, defiant even. So what if everyone saw and thought differently of them. Let them see. This was who Sokrates was now, and what better symbol for the new, more accepting attitude of the Demarchy than a former scion bonded with a divine?

Integrity hadn’t always understood why it was so important to Sokrates, maintaining their careful balance of Apostolosian and non-Apostolosian aesthetics. Their last candidate had just shaved their head, a practical choice of which Integrity had approved, though it hadn’t been their idea or their decision. But now, as Sokrates closed their eyes and let Euanthe tug their hair into something resembling a formal Apostolosian style, and the present moment mixed with memories of years past when they’d gone through the same motions, they thought they could feel that Integrity understood.

And then Euanthe’s hand bumped against the node at the nape of their neck where the main physical presence of Integrity was stored, and they froze. “I’m sorry,” they said, and Sokrates wasn’t entirely sure what they were apologizing for, but was glad that apologies were a habit they had been picking up recently.

“It’s fine,” they said, when Euanthe didn’t say anything else. They’d never been comfortable with long silences the way Euanthe was, never quite had the patience, as their parents said, or the poise, as Euanthe liked to say when they were sixteen and pretentious.

“Does it hurt?”

“Van, you barely hit me,” said Sokrates, pretending they didn’t know what Euanthe was actually asking. Euanthe gave them a _you know perfectly well what I mean_ glare and Sokrates responded with a wide innocent toothy grin, and it was nice, honestly, that they could still do this, that even this many years of silence hadn’t ruined their ability to communicate with just their expressions. It meant, hopefully, that there was enough of their sibling bond left to salvage.

“I meant,” Euanthe said, and then paused, and there was a quiet moment in which they kept poking at Sokrates’s hair even though it didn’t seem like they were accomplishing much anymore. “You know what I mean,” they said finally, impatiently. “Are you okay?”

“Is anyone?” said Sokrates.

“What the fuck,” said Euanthe. “Depressed existentialism is supposed to be Cass’s thing.”

“Sorry,” Sokrates said. “I’m good, though, really. I mean, if you’re asking about Integrity,” they felt Euanthe flinch, “then yeah, I’m happy that we’re together.” They fell silent for a moment, and felt a brief impression of emotion from Integrity: _I’m happy to be with you too._ “I mean, not that it wasn’t weird at first, having someone else in my head and everything, but I’m used to it.”

It took Euanthe a moment to respond and when they did they said, softly, “I’m not used to it. Not to you being back, or anything. Everything’s changed, So, I don’t know how to talk to you anymore. And I’m not sure I ever did.”

“You did,” Sokrates said. “We all did. And I use to tell myself that we never got along at all, because I thought that would make it easier, like if I pretended none of us were ever close I didn’t have to think about how we fell apart.”

“Oh,” said Euanthe, and they lapsed back into a thoughtful silence that was broken by Euanthe saying, hesitantly, “I’m really glad you came home.”

“Me too,” said Sokrates, surprising themself by how much they meant it, and then, “I really am sorry.”

“I know,” Euanthe said. “I know, I’m sorry. I just, I can’t have this conversation yet.”

“Okay,” said Sokrates, and they braced themself for Euanthe to walk away, to leave them alone when really all they wanted was for them stay, like it was a fucking metaphor for their entire childhood. But instead Euanthe squeezed their shoulder and stayed a moment longer, and the silence was maybe a little bit awkward but not passive-aggressive or tense or angry, and it felt like the first step toward forgiveness. Or maybe they’d already been forgiven and they both just needed to realize it.

_They love you_ , said Integrity, as if just figuring that out for the first time, and maybe it was just that Sokrates needed someone else to say it.

_Yeah_ , Sokrates said. _You know what,_ _I think we’re gonna be okay after all._

And then they felt a sudden burst of warmth and love from Integrity, the virtual impression of hug, and the knowledge that Integrity was revising their opinion of Euanthe to include a newfound respect for them, because they were important to Sokrates and therefore Integrity was going to make an effort to like them, and Sokrates smiled. Yeah. They really were going to be okay.

\---

The dinner went about as well as could reasonably be expected, given the current political situation. Which put it several steps above a catastrophe and several steps below a success, leaving it as a pretty solid fiasco. Cass was only referred to as the emperor twice, and no one was openly rude about Integrity, though a few of the older nobles were a little too interested in hearing Euanthe’s opinions on questions that should have been directed to one of the other guests, government officials who had taken their positions under the Demarchy rather than the Empire or who had been—in the opinions of some of the more conservative nobles and a certain segment of the press—a little too quick to adapt to the new system.

No one commented on Sokrates’s appearance, which was either a success or a failure, depending on how they looked at it.

But all in all, nothing unexpected, nothing Sokrates couldn’t handle, as long as they all kept it to snide comments over dinner and didn’t try to undo everything that they had worked for.

It was easier with both of their siblings there, because between the three of them and Integrity’s voice in Sokrates’s head there was always someone ready with a bad pun or an eye roll whenever the situation called for it. To be fair, that someone was usually Sokrates, but at least one of the others was bound to appreciate it.

Also, with Cass there the discussion would invariably turn toward speculations about their love life, and that was always entertaining, even if there was always the risk that someone might remember that neither Euanthe nor Sokrates were married either. Which meant by trying to rescue Cass from difficult questions they could bring those same questions on themself.

Which Sokrates was abruptly reminded when they interrupted a conversation that had Cass blushing and fidgeting with their cutlery, and one of the guests—they must be new to court, Sokrates thought, to even ask—said, curiously, “Will you be getting married instead, then?”

Cass choked on their wine, waiting wide-eyed for Sokrates’s response, and Sokrates, startled, began to laugh, and then kept laughing at the look on the face of the one who had asked. “Sorry,” they said, making no effort to sound sorry, smiling their most innocent smile, the one that said _no, I definitely wasn’t the one who pulled that prank on Euanthe, it must’ve been Cass_. “It’s just, I’m already married-” several people gasped loudly, and Euanthe poured themself another glass of wine, “to the Demarchy.” They could see the tabloids already, and from the look on their face Cass could too, except Cass was probably grateful that this would take the attention off of them for a day or two. “No, but seriously. I’m already spoken for. Committed, long-term, the whole deal.”

“But who is it?”

“When did it happen?”

“Why haven’t you told anyone?”

“Oh, you know,” they said, winking, and put a large bite of cake in their mouth so that no one could ask them any more questions without being rude, and refused to elaborate. Or at least, they refused to elaborate out loud. _I’m talking about you._

_I figured_ , Integrity said. _Are you going to explain that?_

_Ehhh, maybe? I don’t think anyone would get, though. Besides, it’ll be kinda funny to see them try to figure it out._

Maybe the paparazzi would follow Sokrates around for a few days instead of speculating that Cass was secretly dating almost everyone they spoke to, including but not limited to every member of the Chime. Well. Some of those particular rumors might even be true, Sokrates wasn’t sure. They were pretty certain Cass wasn’t involved with Representative Joie or her girlfriend, but as for the others, well, it was none of their business.

The rest of the evening went so well that afterwards that Integrity was the one who suggested they find something on TV to watch to try to relax, and ended up with a cheesy rom-com that they talked over anyway because the dialogue and plot were predictable enough they didn't have to pay full attention, and the product placement couldn’t be more obvious if it tried. It was an EarthHome direct-to-TV, so it wasn’t like Sokrates had high expectations, but at least there was lots of Aria Joie in the soundtrack and it was fun anyway, a better way to spend an evening than thinking about politics.

_We really are basically married,_ Integrity said, having given up trying to follow the plot after the fifth love triangle was introduced.

“Yeah,” Sokrates said. “Not really sure how that works legally, I’m not sure Apostolosian marriage courts have any equivalent of candidacy.”

Integrity hummed in a way that Sokrates recognized as their version of laughter. _Probably not. I don’t mind. And it’s not like I really care about how candidacy is supposed to work._

“Clearly.”

They’d asked once, a few months into their relationship: “Does it bother you that I’m not a real candidate?”

_You’re real for me_ , said Integrity, _and I would not trade you for any other. Especially not-_ Instead of finishing the sentence, Integrity showed them montage of impressions, of Integrity’s previous candidates, of Righteousness and Grace, of worlds that Sokrates recognized and ones they didn’t, some that they suspected were outside the sector altogether, that demonstrated the depth of Integrity’s distaste for the intrigue and infighting that had come to define the politics of the Automated Diaspora.

“Oh,” Sokrates said. “Yeah, well. That’s about how I feel about home sometimes too.”

Integrity sent them a wave of sympathy, and if Sokrates closed their eyes they could almost believe someone was physically hugging them. _Does it bother you to be a candidate?_ Integrity said then, hesitantly.

“It used to,” they said. Integrity hadn’t been what they expected, but then, their only first-hand experience with divines had been Peace and Righteousness, and neither of those examples really filled Sokrates with confidence, since Sokrates had spent years thinking Addax was dead, and Ibex was a jerk. Integrity wasn’t a fan of Righteousness either, which had been one of the first things they bonded with Sokrates over. “It doesn’t really feel like that’s what I am though. It’s less, you’re a divine and I’m a candidate and more, you’re my really cool partner who also happens to be, you know….”

_The AI uploaded onto the nano armor that lives in your skin?_

“Well, when you put it like that…”

Sokrates showed Integrity their memory of that conversation, and Integrity hummed again. _Exactly. Partners._

“Partners,” Sokrates agreed. “Spouses.”

Onscreen, the main couple were finally kissing, after several hours of easily avoided misunderstandings, and the music crescendoed as their lips met and were immediately eclipsed by the dramatic lens flare that covered half the screen, and Sokrates felt the familiar sensation of Integrity’s armor extending, but strangely, this time, to specifically cover their hand, accompanied by the awareness of the deep affection that Integrity was feeling.

“Are you…trying to hold my hand?”

_I’m successfully holding your hand_ , Integrity confirmed, and Sokrates felt their sense of satisfaction, bordering on smugness.

“Forget Integrity, if you keep this up I’ll have to start calling you Ingenuity.”

Integrity hummed in a tone that implied they would be rolling their eyes if they had eyes to roll. Sokrates focused very hard on imagining kissing them on the cheek, and Integrity hummed louder. _Love you too._

**Author's Note:**

> title from never look away by Vienna Teng


End file.
